Datejust
by carnifax
Summary: Harvey/Mike. "It's a present, Mike. You might've heard of this thing called Christmas."


**Datejust**

By carnifax (originally posted to tumblr)  
><em>Suits<br>_Harvey/Mike  
>Rated T<br>Friendship | Romance  
><em>It's a <em>_present__, Mike. You might've heard of this thing called Christmas._

* * *

><p>Mike dumped the papers on Harvey's desk with a flourish and then took a step back, giving his boss a grin and a sweeping bow of triumph.<p>

Harvey, perched on the couch with a baseball in his hands, just smirked. "You done?"

"_Yes_!" It was more of a sigh than an actual word, but it was the best Mike could manage.

He hadn't slept in almost exactly 39 hours, and while it wasn't the first time that Pearson Hardman had fucked his sleeping schedule, it was the first time that he'd had to work two weeks straight, no break days. Their current case - on top of a pro bono case that Harvey had handed off to him - was completely petty and absolutely outlandish, and never had Mike seen two successful men in their late 50's act like such toddlers over something as simple as a mishandled press release. Their client, one of said toddlers, was so unhelpful that Mike actually considered him more of an adversary than their true opponent.

With the pro bono case completely left to him, with Harvey pushing him to be three steps ahead of the game on their real case, with Louis _still_ trying to make Mike his pony—whatever that even meant—and not to mention Jenny's drunk dials at 3 am crying into the phone, asking why he broke up with her almost a month ago… Well, long story short, it had been a hard week.

And tonight was Saturday, and tomorrow was Christmas, and Mike had no other plans for the holiday than to collapse into his bed and sleep for the entire day.

But he was still at work, so when he rose from his bow and saw Harvey straightening in his seat with his Serious Business Face™ on, Mike's stomach dropped.

"Don't tell me there's more to do," he said, trying not to sound like a child, and failing miserably.

Harvey paused, then laughed. "No, no. Look, just bring me that box from my desk." When Mike didn't move, he sighed. "The wrapped one, kid, c'mon. Look alive."

Mike spotted it—a black box with a thin gold ribbon—and, while surprised that Harvey _had_ a gift, let alone deigned to be _seen_ with it, he said nothing. He just crossed the room and held it out to his boss, who looked slightly amused and slightly irritated by the gesture. When a moment passed and Harvey hadn't taken it, Mike gave the box a small, taunting shake, and sighed.

"No, it's _yours_," Harvey told him.

The change in Mike's expression was immediate. The exhaustion cleared from his features and genuine surprise replaced it. "It's _what_?"

"It's a _present_, Mike. You might've heard of this thing called Christmas, a commercial holiday where presents are exchanged in the hopes of quieting children for a few days, or appeasing lovers until Valentine's Day. In this case, it's the first, obviously."

"No, I know—I just… y'know." He held out the present toward Harvey again, looking a little afraid of it. "I can't take this, Harvey."

Harvey leaned back into the sofa and stared at Mike in that unnerving way of his. "You don't even know what it is yet."

"But I know you're _you_ and you hate _my_ things," Mike said, shaking his head. "It's probably some expensive thing that I don't need and already have a perfectly adequate version of, so I'd appreciate—"

"_Perfectly adequate_ is an oxymoron," Harvey cut in, but held out his hand for the box. Mike gave it to him and, against better judgment, didn't immediately turn towards the door. "You're living a different life now, kid," Harvey went on; but Mike's attention was on the man's hands. Harvey's fingers were gently undoing the gold bow, the ribbon slipping through them, curling around the base of his thumb. "And if you're unwilling to upgrade your belongings to match your environment, then it's my duty as your employer"—his fingers tucked under the tape, ripping a clean line through it—"to ensure that you're presentable while talking to clients."

The box was unwrapped now. Harvey flicked open the cardboard lid and took out a wooden box, lacquered black with a gold latch. Harvey smiled up at Mike, his thumb hovering above the fastening.

Mike swallowed, crossed his arms. "I don't want it. Whatever it is, I don't want it."

The latch opened with a soft _chik_.

"Your left arm," Harvey ordered, and Mike held it toward him without even questioning the command. By the time Harvey's fingers were deftly undoing the wrist strap of Mike's watch, it was too late to struggle.

"My watch?" Mike asked, almost a laugh. "_That's_ the most dire of my problems?"

"This thing doesn't work," Harvey said. He removed the watch entirely, pinching it between his thumb and index finger as not to touch it more than necessary. "The second hand moves slower than my watch's minute hand does. Look, it says it's 8:37 am; it's almost 11 pm, Mike, it's not even _close_. And this band, what _is_ it?" He eyed the worn leather strap. "It looks like it's made from cardboard and animals, and I think I might be catching herpes just from touching it."

"It's not _that_ bad—"

Harvey tossed it onto the nearest endtable and finally took out the contents of the gift, holding it as fondly as Mike had ever seen anyone treat a watch. But it _was_ beautiful—a silver and gold band and a black face, gold numbers and the word _ROLEX_ clearly printed on its front.

"You're kidding," Mike said, trying to step away. But Harvey held his arm fast.

"You need to be on time for this job, which you almost never are. And better dressed," he allowed, "and in a better neighborhood, but I figured you'd take even _more_ offense if I were to buy you an apartment and a closet of suits."

Mike stared at him, then at the watch, then back at him. "You're a pretentious asshole," he managed, no venom in his tone.

"I try." Harvey smiled, taking Mike's wrist in his hand with more care than the lawyer had ever shown. Harvey's thumb ran down the sensitive inside of his arm, making Mike's breath stutter. Harvey didn't seem to notice; he was latching the watch in place the way Mike wore his old one, with the face on the inside of his wrist and tight enough to stay close to his hand.

Even when the watch was secure, Mike didn't move. Neither did Harvey; his hands stilled on his associate's wrist, his thumb lightly skimming over Mike's skin.

"This cost more than my suits, didn't it," Mike said at last, if only just so Harvey's fingers wouldn't drive him mad.

"I'd be willing to bet this cost more than your entire closet. Possibly your apartment, too."

"How much was it?"

Harvey raised his eyebrows.

"How _much_?"

"It wasn't the most expensive one I could've gotten."

Mike rolled his eyes and let it go. "I didn't get you anything, you know."

At that, Harvey chuckled and released his grip on Mike's arm, rising to his feet so quickly that Mike almost stumbled as he stepped away. "You did, actually," Harvey said. There was something in the curl of his smile that sent a thrill through Mike's spine. "Because now I know that, despite your protests, you might actually accept whatever I decide to buy for you _next_ Christmas. And then there's your birthday, and other innocuous holidays." His grin widened. "Also, you got me this."

Mike was about to ask what _this_ was, up until the moment that Harvey reached for Mike's tie, tugged him closer and kissed him very simply on the mouth.

Mike didn't even have the grace to close his eyes; he was already staring at Harvey, slightly numb, when the senior partner pulled away from him. Mike's gaze flickered upwards for an instant, expecting to see a green sprig of mistletoe hanging above their heads—Donna was stealthily placing them all over the office yesterday morning, after all—but there wasn't.

"Um."

"Yeah." Harvey handed the Rolex's wooden box to Mike and patted his head, looking at him with a sympathetic smile. There was silence for a moment; Harvey seemed on the verge of saying something, but when he spoke, all that came out was, "Merry Christmas, kid."


End file.
